


Bottles of Feelings, Strawberry Vodka, Lavender Oil and Regrets

by Control_Room, Random_ag



Series: The W-lly Franks Twins [23]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: AND ANIMAL HEADS TOO WHY THE HECK NOT, Gen, He Kinda Sucks At It, Never Ask Kim For Advice On Feelings, WE STAN GIANT MASSES OF WINGS RINGS OF FIRE AND EYES, also an angel apparently, and Very Angery, btw Kim Is A M E S S, but like off-screen, did i mention it is i. random. writing the tags, i have fun, metaphorical angels are for WIMPS, mirror wins the award for Worst Fucking Cat, mostly bc why not, see kim thats why ur Bad At Emotions, shawn is majorely fucked, somebody goddamn come get him, that sounds like something bill wurtz would put in 'history of the entire world i guess', thats a good video, wanna get high on flowers, why go to a psychiatrist when u can get drunk w your homies and cry abt feelings, willy is Not Pleased
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: Kim doesn't deal well with emotions.





	Bottles of Feelings, Strawberry Vodka, Lavender Oil and Regrets

It probably started with Bertrum walking in that morning, bright red, muttering about tripping over his own damn feet and ending up in a compromising position in front of Lacie, being specific, _literally_ on top of hir. And then saying something to hir that would forever haunt him at two am with all those other _lovely_ thoughts and feelings. She refused to let him up about it, laughing at his fluster, knowing he had meant it seriously but pretending she didn’t.

 

Bertrum went to the person he knew that _seemed_ the best at dealing with feelings and emotions, and that ended up being one somehow Italian(ish) Kim Grosso.

 

“How do you deal with feelings?” he bluntly requested of him. “Asking for... um... a friend. I did **not** screw up very badly and now do **not** feel like shit.”

 

Kim waited a second, taken aback by the sudden question: “Oh, well, I... I bottle them up.” he replied, shrugging and moving on to stitching a Mechanic Boris. Bertrum quirked an eyebrow. “Literally. I have a bunch of bottles filled with useless things and labeled after emotions. Bottle them up, and then hide somewhere you can’t find them.”

 

“Is… Isn't that like… unhealthy?” the older man mumbled, concerned. “And a waste of bottles?”

 

“Nah, they’re pretty useless. And I have a ton of them.” the toy maker explained. Bertrum stared with narrowed eyes, wondering if this really was a good idea for either of them. Kim fidgeted the needle in hand and continued, maybe a little bit more reluctantly: “I’ve been looking for confidence for two years now and there is NO SIGN OF IT anywhere in my house.”

 

“This is _definitely_ very unhealthy.”

 

“Would you rather confront the people you know with honesty and let all of the backlash you could possibly get rain down on you like divine punishment for a crime you didn't commit?”

 

“Not... exactly, nope, I, really don't.” Bertrum admitted, but the concern he felt for the (much) younger man grew exponentially. “But, uh... a-are you okay?”

 

“I washed my tongue with soap after saying something once.” Kim hummed. Bertrum felt himself slowly dissociate from his body and the entire situation, as if he went on the spider ride three too many times. “I’m pretty good.”

 

Washing his mouth with soap for saying what he did actually sounded like a good idea, though.

 

No no no, what the Hell. That could have never been a good idea. They both needed professional help.

 

“Do you know any... professionals, to deal with this?” he asked himself aloud, Kim responding with a shrug. Bertrum groaned, rubbing one of his eyes. “Norman has a PhD in behavioral sciences but DAMN Norman. Fatherfucker.”

 

“Are _you_ okay?” Kim questioned, Bertrum’s face going from a light wine pink to an aphrodite red. “Also, I’m not talking to Norman either, no thank you. Not that he’s horrible; though you might be of another opinion, he’s a swell dude; but, I’d rather get smashed on strawberry vodka and cry like a baby while I’m with Shawn and or Johnny than just, uh, tell someone who snoops around about all of my bottled up feelings.”

 

“Noted,” Bertrum murmured, running a hand over his face. “In all seriousness, what soap would you use to wash your mouth?”

 

“Um…” Kim felt his curiosity sparked by the sheer unknown of Bertrum’s conundrum. As well as a drive for information he could use to spread slander. “Well, what did you say?”

 

“Uh…” the dark blush spread from his ears and cheeks to all over his face and inching up his neck. “I-I tripped… and I told Lacie, well I snapped at hir, because she said something first, but still… I told hir that if we really were having a ‘good time’ I wouldn’t... b-be on top.”

 

The toy maker stared back into his eyes.

 

"I don't think soap can help you now, Mr. Piedmont."

 

* * *

 

 “Hey, Kim!” Oh boy. And he thought he had manage to get through the whole day without Shawn's remarks. Why was he doing this to him, again? Yes, he did see Niamh today and felt his heart swell and ache all at once. No need to be so obnoxious about it.

 

The Irishman, of course, was not of the same opinion, deciding on being as pushy about the situation he could be.

 

“Niamh’s dress!?" he almost shouted, head poking from around the corner, "Like, the heat has been turned on! Too bad it’s the end of the day, eh?”

 

Kim opened his mouth to speak and found his eyes filled with tears.

 

“Woah, woah, what's happening? Kim, you alright?”

 

_No, no, no, this can’t… not now… he was fine last night… he was fine ten frickin' minutes ago...._

 

“Oh, fuck, yer not fine a’tol!”

 

 _No SHIT, Shawn. Hit the nail on the head._ **_Bra-vo_** _._

 

“Johnny, grab your keys!” Shawn shouted, picking Kim up and slinging him on his shoulder. Johnny bumped into them as he left his little area. “Kim’s been bottlin’ up again, and needs to get this shit OUT.”

 

“Got it,” the organist smirked, tossing his car’s keys from one hand to another. “Who’s bringing the booze this time?”

 

“I can.” Kim let himself say with a half sigh. “We can also just drink at my place.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Shawn chipped in cheerily, always up for a good dose of alcohol. “That way when we get shitfaced, neither of us will have to go home. We can have a drunk sleepover! Just you, me, and Johnny!”

 

"Shawn, isn't it a worknight though?" Johnny asked rhetorically. Shawn smirked. "Won't  _he_ be upset?"

 

"What my love doesn't know can't hurt him," the Irishman smugly retorted, kissing his ring. "Now, who's ready for alcohol to drown out our misery?"

 

* * *

  

The world spun rapidly.

 

Shawn was singing loudly, his arm around Kim's shoulder, some remixed pub song from his youth or what not. 

 

Johnny was singing along, not knowing the words but knowing the tune as he hummed.

 

Kim downed another shot of something sweet as he bawled his eyes out, first in sadness, then in the inebriated euphoria the other two were transmitting him.

 

His head already pulsed, maybe for the noise.

 

He felt good.

 

* * *

  

Shawn stumbled up to his door, his cheeks still flushed from alcohol and wine. The lights were off, and he thanked god that meant everyone was sleeping. He slipped in, tip toeing down to the hall, snatching a lavender cookie from the stand.

 

He smirked, prideful of his successful rendezvous, and then a light clicked on behind him.

 

Shawn could feel the blood in his veins still as his body froze. He slowly turned to face Willy, sitting in his purple armchair, gazing at him with divine justice burning in his eyes. Shawn stared at him, the air trapped into his lungs. Oh no. Tonight was a work night, wasn't it? And he got caught.... Oh god, this is really  _bad_. 

 

"Hello Shawn," he coldly greeted. Shawn swallowed back terror. "Come here a second, my dear."

 

He did just that, his instincts dragging his feet and making his fight or flight reflexes kick in, aiming for 'flight' instead of his usual 'fight'. Willy gently pulled him down by his loose bow tie, looking over him carefully.

 

"Were you drinking?"

 

"N-no, of course not!" Shawn laughed nervously, Willy simply looking at him through half lidded eyes. "I was jus' hangin' out with Johnny and Kim, 'onest!"

 

"Then..." Willy's hand trailed to his heart, feeling the rapid beat. Oh, he was going to be pleading for mercy. "You wouldn't mind if i smelled your breath, would you?"

 

"Uh," he shoved the entire cookie in his mouth, smirking around the soft and crumbly goodness. Marina and Gonner knew how to bake. He swallowed and smirked at Willy's nearly incredulous face. "Sure."

 

He blew gently, in a soft way from his mouth and not his throat, a trick he'd use on his sister if she caught him drunk.

 

Willy frowned, unable to detect that anything was off.

 

"I guess you're off the hook," he sighed, and a grin itched at Shawn's lips. "Would you like anything in retribution for my accusation?"

 

"A good, long, delicious kiss," he replied, watching that intoxicating blush flood over his fiance's cheeks. He leaned in. "Just the way  _I_ like."

 

"Alright," he breathed, pulling him down, catching his lips. Shawn was delighted with himself, opening his mouth to let Willy kiss him. Willy's tongue was every sweet, just as the man. He moved away, a smile forming. "Whiskey, port, vodka, and a splash of beer."

 

Shawn stared at him.

 

What a clever man. 

 

Shit. 

 

"Without a lemon," Willy added. Shawn felt a sweat break out over his skin. "Now, what were you saying about 'hanging out'? With who, again?"

 

Shawn shook his head slowly, not planning on giving them away.

 

"Seriously?" Willy groaned, leaning his head back. "Are you really planning on playing this game now?"

 

"Yes," Shawn hammered in the last nail of his own coffin, watching Willy turn more and more unimpressed. "Unless I get more kisses."

 

"You are bastard drunk Irishman?" he asked his fiance, raising an eyebrow. "Yes or no."

 

Shawn bit his lip. In cases like this honesty would be the best policy, so he replied with a quiet, "yes."

 

"Then no kisses," Shawn stared in shock. Willy continued, getting up and making his way up the stairs to their room. "I'm glad you didn't lie, but you lied before."

 

"You can't be serious!"

 

"Oh, darlin', but I am."

 

Willy grinned that one signature grin of his, tired and prideful and wise all at once before vanishing all the way upstairs.

 

Shawn hurried after him, catching him before their bedroom pushing him against the doorpost and pressing kisses all over his shoulders. Willy rolled into the room, pulling off his shirt, Shawn catching his wrists and kissing his exposed skin. Willy moved away, grabbing and putting on his pajama shirt instead, hesitating before taking off his pants and quickly putting on his flannel ones. Shawn tackled him to the bed, kissing his neck and collar. Willy pushed him off, slipping under the sheets and covering his head under the cloth. Shawn changed into his own nightclothes, getting under the blanket and feeling for Willy, trying to pull him close. He gently pushed his hand back. Shawn frowned.

 

"No." Willy told him off. Shawn's mouth opened in his hurt. "Bad boys do not get cuddles."

 

Shawn's face morphed into one of horror and shock.

 

"Whot? Why ye betrayin' me, me love?" he questioned, kissing Willy's sensitive fingers, stressing his accent. "I'm ah good boye, lahve. I try ma bes', an' I 'aven't gotten drunk in ah while!"

 

"Lace curtain Irishman'll have big arse beatin' t'morrow," Willy retorted, his own bostonian and brooklyn accent heavy. "Ya know I hate lyin', toots."

 

It was around this point Shawn had an epiphany: o shit he is REALLY MAD.

 

He clamored on top of Willy despite quiet little protests. He spread himself over him, chest to chest, arms and legs around him.

 

"Wha' the hell are ya doin', Shawn," Willy asked, exacerbated. "Ya not makin' it any better fo' yaself."

 

"I might be dead," the Irishman replied, "but I might save the others."

 

He fell asleep shortly after. Willy sighed, kissing the top of his head. He wasn't mad at Shawn. Not at all. He had been worried. He had no way to contact him and he restlessly paced, unable to sleep in his anxiety. And now he was safe in his arms, there was nothing to worry about. He kissed his beloved four leaf clover again.

 

"I love you."

 

 

* * *

 

Shawn thought he could get out of it, trying to slink out of the house before Willy could notice, but alas, it was impossible.

 

" _ **FLYNN**_!"

 

Shawn ran into the room, Willy standing with one of his hands on his hip and the other clutching the phone which he had clearly just slammed back.

 

"Y-yes, love?"

 

"Jericho called."

 

Awwww shiteballs.

 

"You went to Jericho's bar  _after_ draining all of Kim's stock dry, and you drank how much?!"

 

"Uh..."

 

"Three kegs, Shawn, for three men. Each. Why you're not dead from alcohol poisoning now is a wonder. But unluckily for you, I'm feeling pretty mariticidal right now."

 

Shawn discovered he knew exactly what primal fear was in that moment. 

 

* * *

 

 

Willy dragged his beloved into the Studios as he ignored his pleas for mercy, enraged fumes almost visible leaving his ears. Johnny downright panicked as he felt his collar being violently tugged and he was dragged all over the floors until his sorry ass was tossed into a room together with Shawn's and Kim's, the latter of whom seemed to be spacing out a bit too much to fully realize what was happening.

 

The organist wished as hard as he could to be that confused; he wouldn't have had to witness the blood-curling sight of the furious janitor.

 

Not that there was any physical sign of anything frightening.

 

There was an aura of fear wafting around him, and it seemed like his shadow glitched menacingly every so often, too fast to be certain.

 

Now he understood what Shawn meant when he said he could be terrifying.

 

"Who the _fuck_ brought the alcohol."

 

Willy's eyes burned holes in all of their skulls with hellfire.

 

“M-my bad,” Kim damn near whimpered as he raised his trembling hand. The way Willy’s fingers twitching as though they were ready to just wrap around a neck terrified him. His mind was a single constant begging: ‘ _Please don’t be mad, don’t flip out, please please…._ ’

 

The powers from up above, sadly, did not come to his aid.

 

"YOU ABSOLUTE SHIT," the darkest in the room thundered, eyes flashing lightning. "DO YOU NOT REALIZE YESTERDAY WAS A WORK NIGHT? AND I SWEAR TO GOD IF SHAWN FORGETS WHAT MY RULE FOR WEEKNIGHTS IS AGAIN, HE WON’T SIT FER A WEEK! DO YOU WANT THAT?! DO YOU WISH UPON YOURSELF TO DEAL WITH A WHINY SHAWN FOR A WEEK?! DO YOU NOT WANT TO SIT?! I WILL DESTROY ALL THE MUSCLES IN YOUR BACK IF THIS HAPPENS AGAIN!! STOP LAUGHING, JOHNNY, SAME WARNING FOR YOU, AND TAKE IT HEAVIER. IMAGINE PLAYING THE ORGAN WHILE STANDING FOR A WEEK. NOT SO FUNNY NOW, IS IT!? YOU ALL TAKE THIS AS MERCY THAT I WONT TELL NIAMH, OR THERE'D BE MORE THAN HELL TO PAY."

 

The moment he left the room he pinched the bridge of his nose, regretting his tirade of reproach directed at Kim. That may have been a poor choice. He walked back in, Kim crying big silent tears and the other two ashamed. Willy knew that looking in a mirror at that time would lead to bad results, so instead he patted Kim on the head. Kim continued to cry.

 

“Sometimes we all make mistakes, and sometimes you need to cry to learn your lesson,” Willy sighed, shrugging. “Johnny, please take Kim home, he’s been holed up in this place _way_ too long. Also he may still be a little drunk.”

 

"I'm so f'kin' s'rry." the toy maker slurred between sobs.

 

Yes. Still very drunk.

  
Willy looked to Shawn as the other two left, Kim blubbering on Johnny's shoulder. Shawn felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle. He nervously twisted the ring on his finger, something already becoming a habit, swallowing back fear. Willy walked up to him, pushing back his spiked brown hair. He gently kissed him, right by his ear and whispered;

"You are not getting out of this easy. Tonight, you're dealing with everyone. Wally, Thomas, Sammy, the girls -- and later, I'll deal with  _you_ , you bastard."

 

"Does that or does that not include some fun?" Shawn asked hopefully. Willy's eye twitched, his boot stamping on Shawn's foot. He swore, doubling over. He gasped. "I'll take that as a 'no' to that."

 

"Precisely," Willy muttered, leaving the room only to be going back in for the third time, but this time he was dragged back by Shawn, who pressed little kisses to the back of his neck, whispering apologies. Willy smiled, pulling away. "Sorry won't cut this one, darling."

 

* * *

 

“Kim.”

 

The name he gave himself to appease both parties.

 

“Kim.”

 

Was someone talking to him?

 

“Kim, can you tell me who I am?”

 

No. He couldn’t. His head hurt too much.

 

“Kim, take a deep breath.”

 

Why did he drink so much with Shawn and Johnny the night before?

 

“In, and out.”

 

He followed the instructions without question.

 

“Kim, can you say your name?”

 

What was his name?

 

“Kim. Breathe, in and out.”

 

Finally, his eyelids felt light enough to be lifted. A dark visage was right over him, with curls of soft ash among the brown ones.

 

"Hello," he whispered. "I'm still sorry."

 

"Well, I am too," Willy responded with a soft exhale, glad he was back to earth, "I was... a bit too harsh. Mostly I was mad at Shawn for not keeping his word."

 

The toy maker waved dismissively, replying with a voice hoarse but not in the least bit angry: "All good."

 

Willy smiled lightly and looked around, a little embarrassed by his sudden visit and _heavily_ ink-stained clothes that witnessed a particularly shitty day with him. He went back to focus on the other man's face: his eyes were red and swollen, and his cheek seemed sort of glossy.

 

"Did you spend the whole day crying in your bed?"

 

"... Maybe."

 

The janitor sighed.

 

"There's better ways to deal with things like these, you know? Destressin' doesn't have to be alcohol's work."

 

Kim let out a airy laugh with very little joy in it: "Little do you know, I have a history with being terrible at emotions."

 

"That's why I brought this." replied Willy, shaking the little bottle in front of the other man's puzzled eyes. "It's lavender oil. To help you out."

 

"Oh... uh, thanks?" he looked abashed. "I don't know how to use it, though."

 

The janitor's face lit up with a smile: "I can show you!"

 

He got up, the other following him to his own kitchen, Willy talking while he worked, gathering a pot and filling it with water.

 

"I take ya don't have a diffuser, so watch carefully, you boil water, like this," Kim had never seen water heat up so fast; normally it took ten minutes at least, but for some reason it took Willy ten seconds to get it to a simmer. Kim stared. No way that was normal. "When it gets to a simmer, put in one tea spoon."

 

He passed the little vial to Kim with a spoon, indicating he do it. Kim's hands shook too much and he spilled about one too many drops. Okay, a lot too many. Willy shrugged off his apologies.

 

"I can always make more, you know."

 

"You made this?" Kim asked, surprised for a moment before remembering the man lived in a lavender field for heaven's sake. A rumor floating around the studio rose to his mind, and he was tempted into asking, possibly by his curiosity, most likely by his somewhat remaining drunkenness; "Is it true that you always smell like lavender?"

 

"I guess I sort of do, don't I?" the janitor chuckled, scratching the back of his head, blushing lightly. "I've been workin' in that field fer a couple'a years by now. Lavender always seemed... right to me, I guess. To help things grow, plants, animals, humans -- all of 'em together, creatin' such a symphony of... life, ya know? It's beautiful."

 

Kim stared at the other man's face as if he'd never seen him before. He had never seen someone so wonderfully radiant. The way Willy had moved and showed him the procedure and talked about it was just so animated, and he had such a smile despite his clearly visible weariness, that he seemed to shine bright enough to drench his slightly steaming apartment in a heavenly light.

 

Almost... Divine.

 

"You're an angel, aren't you?"

 

Willy raised his head from cleaning the dishes out of habit, almost spilling water all over the floor.

 

"What?" he asked for him to repeat with an incredulous and shaky smile. 

 

"I said, you're an angel, aren't you?"

 

"I... No?" the janitor laughed, taken aback, "I'm just a former addict trying to do my part an' help."

 

Kim's smile didn't falter; he just furrowed his brows in a relaxed but slightly betrayed expression, putting a hand on his chest: "I'm hurt you think I can't keep a secret like that." he murmured sweetly.

 

Willy inhaled the heavily perfumed air. Oh no.

 

Maybe all that lavender oil was  _far_ too much for someone who never had it before.

 

"Kim." he felt a twinge of panic as the man took a swaggering step toward him. "Kim, I am _not_ an angel."

 

"I never told you were I live, and yet here you are..." Kim sighed, touching Willy's shoulder. "God must have sent you to my door."

 

"I just," he brushed Kim's hand off, "asked Shawn your address."

 

"So God's name is Shawn?" he smiled even more through half lidded eyes. "Interesting."

 

"Oh, fuck it."

 

The toy maker gasped: "The Lord's word..." and gave an absent-minded giggle, similar to a child on laughing gas.

 

The thought of slapping him traversed Willy's mind honking like a pack of wild, enraged geese. Unfortunately, his Mirror Self decided to give in to its most feline instincts and move the furniture around for sport in boredom, throwing books from a shelf to another and being an overall quiet, poltergeist-y nuisance. Which would have been fine, had his annoying endeavors not caused a vase to fall on the floor, breaking to pieces.

 

Willy felt cold sweat run down his face similar to an icy waterfall as Kim swiveled to behold the damage.

 

_A fucking furnishing falling off a counter without anyone or anything moving it is not something you can just fucking explain-_

 

"Ah, your wings."

 

"... my fuckin'... what?"

 

Kim pointed unfazed to the shattered remains on the pavement, perfectly calm: "Your wings knocked it down. It's fine, I'll clean it up." Then, speaking more to himself, he added under his breath: "Or maybe it was your rings of fire and eyes? I'd love to see those. Angels are so majestic."

 

This man. Probably stoned out of his mind of lavender. Talking about an invisible parasite like it was something majestic.

 

"Th̸is͠ g̕uy's͠ on̶e̡ ̧hel͜l ̡of ̷an̴ ̡idi̕ot!͏" Mirror exclaimed, laughing through his remark. "A̸n angel̴?͘ YO͟U!?͏ W̸ings ̴of ̢f͡i̛r͜e my̨ ̴a͘s͏s, ̕bu͡d͜d͏y͟!̴"

 

Willy, pretty surprisingly, agreed.

 

"Ooooookay buddy, go back to sleep, you're high on flowers." he shushed Kim, forcing him back on the bed. "You need to sober up in so many ways."

 

"Can I at least see your wings?" the toy maker asked, pulling him down sharply, gazing up at him. "Please?"

 

"No."

 

"Aw, why not?"

 

"I don't have wings."

 

"Your rings of fire?"

 

"Don't have those either."

 

"What if I asked to see just one of your thousand eyes?"

 

"You know damn well I only have two!"

 

Kim weakly smacked his cheek with a breathy promise: "I won't tell anyone."

 

"I. Am. Not. An angel."

 

"Please?"

 

Willy shot him a glare that was drenched in murderous energy, his eye twitching and the lavender in the air unable to quell his and mirror's burning thirst for a certain toymaker's blood in a milk glass.

 

"I swear to God-" he began hissing, but a long, somewhat delicate finger pressed gently on his lips, sealing them shut. Kim smiled widely, peaceful.

 

"A-ha!" he chuckled softly, as if trying to fight the urge to fall asleep, "Point proven. You're an angel."

 

And just like that, he passed out.

 

The janitor stared at him napping, thirst for blood quenched ( _thanks, mirror_ ), anger diminished, the smell of lavender finally growing thinner.

 

"Fuck you too, I guess." he sighed, sitting on the edge and rubbing a hand over his face. "Just pass out, great."

 

Kim turned slightly to his side, humming and groaning, unaware of the insult. A very slurred 'Thank you' fell out of his lips.

 

Willy quirked up his mouth in a small grin, patting the other man's silky cheek.

 

_You're welcome._

 

"H̢ey̛,͝ W̕i͏lls, ̷let'̶s ̵raid h͏iş f͢ri̶d̷ge,̷" Mirror suggested. Willy stared at his grinning shadow with a blank glower. Mirror grinned wider, licking over fangs. "What͞?̢ I'm̵...͏ h̶u̢ng̛ry̴."

 

"No," Willy replied in his head, poofing away the parasite, their presence a pressure on the back of his mind. "Pizza sounds nice though."

 

A purr hummed from the deepest recesses of his thoughts. Despite this, his mirror self still found it implacably necessary to trip him in front of the food storing object. Willy gripped the door to it to keep from falling, it swinging open. He ended up holding onto it three inches from the floor, and slowly got up. Hunger rippled through him. The fridge was open, but Willy shoved away the gluttonous feelings (as per usual), narrowing his eyes. Kim's refrigerator was a mess. He sighed and got to sorting out what was edible and questionable, discarding things that could not be eaten. He took everything out, finding cleaning supplies and spraying it down, practically shoving himself into the cold box. When it was satisfactorily sterilized, he pulled himself out. Except he couldn't. His hair caught to something on the roof of the fridge, and Willy tore it down so he could untangle it.

 

His eyes narrowed. It was a bottle that had been taped to the ceiling of the fridge, right in the one place it would never be seen. The inside of it was filled with colorful threads of yarn, between which he could spy a round, smooth pebble. The label read "Security", and it was exceptionally pretty.

 

"Was this what you wanted me to find?"

 

"̡M͝a͢y̢be̢.͠"̴

 

"You're insufferable."

 

"An͡d y̡ou'̛r͢e ҉w͠ea̛k.͡"

 

Willy frowned, looking over the bottle. It had an energy to it, both he and Mirror could feel it. He set it under Kim's arm for him to find when he woke up, put everything back in the fridge and left with a list, returning to put the new groceries he just bought for the man where they belonged. He then set himself to making grab and go food, creating yogurt parfaits with granola and marking them "breakfast". He then wrote a list for the man, pinning it to the alcohol shelf he found.

 

The list consisted of, in his neat script;

_If the answer is yes, go to the next question. If not, find someone to talk to or something:_

_Are you happy now?_

_Are you with friends?_

_Do you have a safe means to get home?_

_Do **they** have one too?_

_Do you have money for bail?_

_Are you willing to pay for bail?_

_Are you willing to have a hangover?_

_Are you willing to just let go?_

_Do you have someone to talk to while you are drunk that you trust?_

_Is it not a work night?_

_Do you have less than three jobs?_

_Are you NOT an abstainer? (this one always gets me)_

_If you answered yes to all of these, have fun. Remember, this is yours to edit_ :).

_Wilbur M F Franks_

 

 

He left a lavender muffin on the table.

 

* * *

 

"Shawn, did you know your boyfriend is an actual honest to God patron angel of desperate causes?"

 

The toy maker felt immediately attacked, his jealousy tingling in his ears with an orchestra of wine glasses shattering; he looked over his shoulder, squinting suspiciously: "Do you mean he's attractive, or... ?"

 

Kim turned to him very slowly to present his friend with the stare of someone who's been teased on his crush by that exact same man about 37363 times.

 

"Oh. Yeah, you're right." the Irishman replied, suddenly realizing the problem with his previous question. "He is, ain't he?"

 

"WALLY, I AM _NOT_ GOING GREY!" they heard being shout right then above their heads. It was followed by a storm of maniac cackling and a furious: "I'M GOIN' TO SLAUGHTER YOU AND FEED YOU TO SAMMY AND THOMAS, AND THEY'RE GONNA SAY 'THIS TASTES GREAT! WHAT DID YOU MAKE IT WITH?!' AND I WILL TELL THEM IT IS DEAD BROTHER!"

 

More laughter kept coming nonetheless, until it was sharply cut off by what could have possibly been brutal fratricide.

 

"... Yep." Shawn chuckled, smearing some paint on an Alice's smile, cursing and wiping it with a rag."Definitely an angel." 

 

"Well, you know, angels  _are_ deliverers of divine justice," Kim replied without flinching. "I guess Wally'll just have to accept his fate and be killed now."

 

The Irishman rapidly turned to him again, his face betraying his concern.

 

"Weren't you afraid of legal repercussions?" he questioned nervous, looking over his best friend. "You sound way too calm for this."

 

"Then I'd love for you to enlighten me on how one could arrest an emissary of our Lord provided with multiple eyes, wings, possible rings of fire and or one if not more animal heads among a human one."

 

"... Kim," Shawn spoke slowly, the gears in his head spinning faster than the racks. "Did... did you mean like an _actual biblical angel_  this whole time?"

 

The second toy maker finally directed his gaze onto his friend, head tilted in a confused manner. "What other kind of angel is there?"

 

"A figurative one!?!"

 

"SOMEONE HELP!" Wally shrieked from above them, still laughing his arse off. "MY BROTHER IS GONNA TURN MY BOYFRIENDS INTO CANNIBALS!"

 

"ESCAPING DIVINE PUNISHMENT IS USELESS!"

 

"Kim, yer scaring me."

 

"Good!"


End file.
